Badass HQ
by SprayPaintedShoes
Summary: What really goes on at the Malfoy Manor. Crackfic  or whatever  in which Lord Voldemort acquires a pig, Severus reads from the Death Eater suggestion box and the guests of Nott's birthday party get drunk and tepee Hagrid's hut.
1. Chapter 1

**What _really_ goes on at Malfoy Manor. I believe this counts as 'crackfic' because, by the Urban Dictionary's definition, it's 'unbelievable and insane' and in it Voldemort totally has a Facebook and Snape is a devil with Powerpoint presentations.**

**This was born out of writers block and boredom. It doesn't make sense. I'm not even sure what time period it's meant to be from. Let's just say it's before Voldie dies, m'kay?**

**Enjoy n'shiz.**

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><p><strong>13th February, 11:43 AM - <em>Badass HQ<em>**

'My Lord,' a voice from the doorway murmured. After almost twenty five years of being addressed thus and seeing as, as far as he knew, he was the only Dark Lord in residence at Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort was in no doubt that the slithering imbecile hovering in the doorway of the darkened drawing room was talking to him. Still, he did not respond for several seconds. Dramatic silences were rather his forte, and the inevitable February lull following the elaborately cheerful Christmas holidays, which cheerily rendered the Death Eaters understandably bored of killing and torturing, meant that Lord Voldemort had been unable to employ a good suspense-filled silence recently.

The Death Eater, however, was impervious to Voldemort's melodramatic urges, and merely thought his Dark Lord was a little hard of hearing.

'My Lord,' he repeated loudly, spelling out each syllable.

Resisting the urge to slap his palm to his face in exasperation, Voldemort instead used his thumb and first finger to pinch the space of flat, pasty skin where the bridge of his nose _would_ have been had the unfortunate Graveyard Catastrophe of '95 issue not rendered him without one.

'What is it?' Voldemort demanded crisply, his high voice ringing across the dark room.

'A package,' the Death Eater replied loudly, still over-enunciating like a simpleton, 'has been delivered for you. In - the - atrium.'

'A package?' Voldemort repeated to himself, the left side of his forehead - since the Graveyard Catastrophe had also left him severely lacking brows of the eye variety - raising in confusion.

'YES,' the Death Eater practically yelled. 'IN - THE - ATRIUM.'

'I - am - not - deaf - you - blithering - idiot -' Voldemort snapped, in much the same simpleton manner, spinning around with a theatrical flourish of his long, dark cloak. It whipped silkily around his legs, proving that, despite Severus's objections, _Mr Magorium's Fuzzy-Duzzy Fabric Softener_ had been a very good investment. There may not have been the time for melodramatic pauses recently, but there was _always_ occasion for a good cloak-flourish. Voldemort had even requested that his tailor, who was chained in the dungeons several floors below, make his cloak extra long, black and swishy. After all, second to being unimaginably evil, being ostentatious was what Voldemort was all about.

The Death Eater yelped and scuttled away before Voldemort could curse him to a quivering blob of jelly. Not that Voldemort would have cursed him to a quivering blob of jelly, as Severus had recently told him that he wasn't allowed to do that anymore. They were rather running low on Death Eaters, it seemed, and Wormtail was having trouble finding places to dispose of the Death-Eater-jelly.

Sighing heavily at the brutal way the recent employment figures repressed him so, Voldemort swept from the room and made his way down to the atrium, his cloak whispering behind him the whole way.

When he descended the final staircase his eyes swept over the occupants waiting in the grand entrance hall: Yaxley was leaning against the banister, making eyes at Nott; Malfoy was twitching around, reminding the others to remove their shoes before they stepped on the carpet; Severus was utilising his infallible ability to simultaneously smirk, sneer and look bored while continuing to look devilishly handsome; Wormtail was attempting to wedge a jar labelled 'Dolohov Jelly' into a plant pot; Nott was making eyes at _himself_ in the mirror; and the rest of the lower Death Eaters were all staring, rather confusedly, at -

'A pig,' Voldemort said flatly, his eyes falling finally to the squat little pink thing standing in the middle of the room, in the centre of the circle of Death Eaters.

'It arrived on the doorstep approximately twenty minutes ago, my Lord,' Severus said, continuing to sexy-smirk-bored-sneer at him. 'Addressed to you.'

'Who is it from?' Voldemort demanded, coming to a halt on the bottom step, leaving him several inches above his followers.

'It doesn't say, my Lord,' Yaxely, who had dragged his eyes away from Nott's sculpted buttocks long enough to glance at Voldemort, growled in his gravelly voice. 'The note is anonymous.'

'There is a note?' Voldemort asked. When the Death Eaters nodded but did not move to recite the contents of this infamous note, Voldemort arched a non-existent eyebrow and took several paces forward to read for himself. The pig, who had been peering curiously up at Voldemort, wiggled his nose at the Dark Lord as he approached. Voldemort paused, perturbed. The fact that the pig had not flinched in horror to be in the presence of such a rapscallion (Severus had forbidden Voldemort from describing himself thus in public - apparently the word 'rapscallion', which he believed to be charming and cooky, didn't bode very well for his reputation) meant that the pig had a lot more confidence than over three quarters of Lord Voldemort's motley crew of rebels (again, a banned description when referring to his Death Eaters - Severus could be so somber sometimes).

'The pig does not fear me,' Voldemort announced musingly, more to himself than to the motley crew surrounding him.

'I don't believe farmyard beings are acquainted with your - pernicious methods, my Lord.'

_Pernicious methods_? And Severus thought _rapscallion_ was being 'rather too artsy'?

'Wormtail,' Voldemort barked. Wormtail jumped, yelped, dropped the jar of jelly into the plant pot and hurried to Voldemort's side.

'Yes, my Lord?'

'See to it that all animals of the farmyard variety are hereby acquainted with my' - he paused to send Severus a pithy glare, but Severus merely sexy-smirk-bored-sneered back at him - 'pernicious methods.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Wormtail repeated. He paused, his small rat-face scrunching in confusion. 'My Lord - how do I -?'

'Just do it, Wormtail,' Voldemort replied in a bored voice. When Wormtail nodded, but did not immediately get to scurrying, Voldemort added on with a sigh, '_now_, Wormtail.'

'Oh, yes - my Lord. My Dark Lord, er - sir.'

For not the first time in his relatively short second life, Voldemort wished he had a nose - pinching one's skin with one's thumb and forefinger did not give the relief or dramatic effect that pinching the bridge of one's nose did. And so, Voldemort had to resort to facepalming.

Severus sniggered. Voldemort made a note to partner Severus's sexy ass up with Wormtail the next time he went on a mission. Then who would be sniggering, bitch.

'Uh, my Lord?'

Voldemort paused in his evil giggles long enough to glance over at Lucius, who was staring at the pig, wincing every time it shifted its muddy trotters on his shiny, shiny floor.

'There is still the matter of the - ah, pig.'

'Yes,' Voldemort said in his high, cold voice. He stepped forward, again surprised when the pig refused to cower in fear, but merely wiggled his small, curly tail. Voldemort suddenly felt several small spasms twitching his cheeks, pulling the corners of his lips upwards. Setting his mouth in a straight line and passing these unusual cheek movements off as more side-effects of splitting one's soul into several pieces - along with the, ah, _follicley_ _challenged _nature of his scalp and his inability to tan in the summer - Voldemort approached the pig. He paused, unsure of how to make crouching down look both graceful and daunting. He decided on a slow bending of his knees, intending to look tense and dangerous, but only really succeeding in looking like he was squatting on the toilet.

No matter. If any of his Death Eaters laughed, he would murder them - screw Severus and his flashy powerpoint presentation on employment figures and the like, even Dark Lords needed to blow off steam occasionally.

The note the Death Eaters had been referring to was tied around the pig's collar - which, Voldemort noted with a disturbed frown, was baby blue and dotted with diamonds. Pointedly ignoring the ostentatious pig-bling for the moment, Voldemort untied the note and pushed himself to his feet, again failing in the graceful and daunting departments. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had held in their giggles, leaving Voldemort lacking a reason to mindlessly kill any of them. Vowing to find a reason soon, Voldemort turned the note over in his hands and read.

'Oink?' he said loudly, incredulity robbing his voice of its usual coldness. 'That's all? _Oink_? What is that supposed to mean?'

'It's the noise a pig makes, Lord,' Nott said bluntly. Voldemort sighed - Nott was a clear embodiment of the phrase 'beauty not brains', unlike Severus, who was both incredibly cunning and wickedly sexy.

Focus_, _Voldemort. Focus.

'Yes, thank you, Nott,' Voldemort managed through gritted teeth. If Severus continued to keep a tight grasp on Voldemort's wand then he was going to explode - um, innuendo not intended.

Er.

'Right,' Voldemort said briskly, glad that his pasty skin hid blushing well. He threw the note to the floor, ignoring Lucius's gasp of pain, and barked, 'Wormtail!'

When the sound of scampering feet was absent from the hall, Voldemort glanced around in search of his minion, realising a few seconds later that Wormtail was busy instilling fear and respect into cows, chickens and the like. Voldemort sighed again, delving into his memory for the Death Eater next on his bitch list.

'Averly!' he barked.

'Avery,' the Death Eater standing closest to the front door corrected. Voldemort scowled. Averly paled. 'Never mind. Averly's fine.'

'Averly, take this pig and -'

Voldemort halted. He had been on the verge of saying 'kill it' but the words disappeared on his lips, for when Voldemort had set his heinous glare on the pig to deliver its death sentence, the pig, blissfully oblivious to this, had wiggled its curly tail and twitched its stout snout in a way that was almost - _charming_. To the Dark Lord's uttermost surprise, the pig's carefree and debonair demeanour made Voldemort want to use words like 'jolly', 'merry' and 'frolicking' without any fear of the repercussions from Severus. The pig made Voldemort want to clap his hands and jump up and down like a small, jovial child. It was ridiculous. It was unprecedented. It was impossible.

And that was coming from someone who had split his soul. _Six times_.

'- and move it to the drawing room upstairs.'

A ripple of astonished gasps echoed around the room. Voldemort sighed. Some of his Death Eaters could be _so_ melodramatic sometimes. Except for Severus. He knew how to be theatrical and extravagant without looking gaudy. Voldemort supposed his striking good looks and perfectly sculpted cheekbones had something to do it.

_Focus_, Voldemort.

'Upstairs, my Lord?' Severus said, making full use of the aforementioned cheekbones to lock Voldemort in a piercing stare. 'Surely it would be best to slaughter the beast -'

'No!' Voldemort cried before he could stop himself, there mere thought of poor Mr. Piggles (here, Voldemort made a mental note to muse over new nicknames) being hurt causing him to lose control over his mouth and arms, which had flung themselves into the air following his exclamation. Lowering them quickly, Voldemort cleared his throat and continued in a more cool, collected voice, 'I mean, no, that would not be best. I want Mr Pig - _the_ pig upstairs in the drawing room.' He set his cold eyes on Averly. '_Now_.'

Luckily, being a super-evil Dark Lord and having very little hair meant that his Death Eaters usually did not question the bizarre and ridiculous decisions Voldemort made. Like that time he'd attached himself to the back of Quirrel's head. Though, thinking back, he now rather wished someone _had_ mentioned what an insane idea that was (here, Voldemort made another mental note to find someone to blame that on and kill them).

'Now, is there anything else you witless ignoramus scoundrels' - Severus slapped a palm to his face, but Voldemort ignored him - 'need from your Lord?'

There were several murmured 'no's, broken periodically by the sound of Severus slamming his head against the wall, so Voldemort turned briskly on his heel (making sure to employ much cloak-swishing and robe-whispering) and stormed back up the stairs to the drawing room he had coveted.

Averly pushed the pig through the door several moments later, scurrying away before Voldemort could utter so much as a jelly-legs jinx.

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><p><strong>14th February, 2:23 PM - <em>Voldemort's Crib<em>**

The next day, after much pig-bonding, Lord Voldemort and the newly-christened Lord Oinkmort were sat in the drawing room playing solitaire and gossiping about the recent goings on at Malfoy Manor.

'And then, after Yaxley had walked in on Dolohov and Nott in the broom cupboard -'

'My Lord.'

'Ah, Severus,' Voldemort said, spinning around on the spinning chair he had made Yaxley order from Ikea to find Severus leaning casually against the doorframe, a black box tucked underneath his arm. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, something Severus had told him looked much more 'evil' than twiddling his thumbs did. 'I'm glad you are here. I would like to formally introduce you -' he made a sweeping gesture at the pig, who was sitting contentedly on an armchair to the right of the desk - 'to Lord Oinkmort.'

The sexy-smirk-bored-sneer fell from Severus's face. He glanced over at the pig. Voldemort had pulled down one of the drawing room curtains and had fashioned a pig-sized cloak out of it, which was now fitted snuggly around Lord Oinkmort's neck.

'Lord Oinkmort,' he repeated in a flat voice.

'Yes,' Voldemort replied, his cheeks pulling upwards in a horrifying grimace that he liked to pass off as a smile.

'You named the pig,' Severus said, his voice devoid of any emotion.

'Not 'the pig', Severus, Lord Oinkmort.'

'You _named it_.'

Did Voldemort detect a smidgen of exasperation?

'I did.'

'You named it _Lord Oinkmort_.'

'Yes, Severus - haven't you been listening to me?'

'Right. Lord Oinkmort. Excuse me, my Lord, while I go and drown myself in Lucius's fountain.'

'Oh pish,' Voldemort said, waving an airy hand at Severus, who looked about ready to cry following his Lord's use of the word 'pish', and beckoned him into the room. 'Don't be foolish, Severus, you're too handsome to die.'

Severus sighed heavily, running a hand through his shiny, shiny hair. He held up the black box with the other hand. 'You need to sort through this.'

'What is it?'

'The suggestion box.'

Voldemort frowned. 'We have a suggestion box?'

Snape nodded, moving into the room and placing the box on the desk in front of Voldemort. 'The Death Eater's requested it when you started killing everyone who tried to suggest something.'

'Oh, pish,' Voldemort mumbled again.

'At any rate, it seems quite full this month. You must take a look.'

'When I signed up for this job,' Voldemort started heavily, leaning back in his chair, 'I thought it would be plundering and murdering and taking over the world. But it's not. It's all paperwork.'

Severus grinned and popped the lid off the box, which Voldemort now noticed had a 'COME TO THE DARK SIDE, OUR WOMEN ARE HOTTER (AND WE HAVE COOKIES TOO)' bumper sticker stuck across the top. Reaching inside, Severus extracted a handful of tightly furled and folded pieces of parchment. He unraveled one and began to read.

'The first one is from 'No.1 Death Eater' -'

'Wait, they're anonymous?' Voldemort demanded.

'Yes.'

'So I can't even kill the morons who submit stupid ones?'

'No, my Lord.'

'That's ridiculous! What's the point of a suggestion box if I can't kill anyone?'

Severus facepalmed before continuing with the piece of parchment. '_No.1 Death Eater_ requests the inauguration of casual Fridays every Friday.'

Voldemort sighed. He had already killed many a Death Eater for suggestions similar to this one. It seemed his motley crew weren't going to give up. 'Every fortnight,' Voldemort relented.

Severus scratched a quick note on the parchment and placed it to one side. He picked up another. '_Wizborne-Wasp-Crazy-347_ wants you to stop killing people.'

'Find out who that is and kill them. Next.'

'_Snake-Lover_ wants a vegetarian option on the evening menu.'

'No. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.'

'That doesn't make sense, my Lord.'

'I don't care, vegetarians are schlemiels. Next.'

'The next one is another request for casual Fridays, and that's from 'your mother'.'

'Very witty.'

'_Too Sexy For My Robes _asks that a fence be built around the pond containing the flesh-eating water slugs.'

'Is that from Nott? Because I _swear_ he tripped and fell into that pond. In _no way_ did I push him in.'

'Shall I say yes to the fence, then?'

'If you must. What's the next one?'

'This one is from - hah - _MC Blonde Bombshell_, and he requests the instigation of a 'no shoes in the Manor' rule, along with the placement of a muddy shoe rack beside the front door. This request ties in with the one about manufacturing slippers to go with the Death Eater uniform that we had last week.'

'You'll have to talk to Wormtail about that, he deals with the uniform issues.'

'I believe he has a few designs drawn up, but he was unsure whether to go for the bunny or teddy variety of slipper.'

Lord Voldemort glanced over at Lord Oinkmort.

'What do you think, Lord Oinkmort?' he asked.

'Oink,' said Lord Oinkmort.

'Bunny slippers it is,' Lord Voldemort said, turning back to Severus, who looked suicidal.

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><p><strong>22nd February, 9:40 AM - <em>Badass HQ<em>**

A week later, when Lord Voldemort and Lord Oinkmort were doing their daily rounds of the Bad Ass Mother Killers HQ, which mainly involved stalking around Malfoy Manor barking orders at Death Eaters or surreptitiously sneaking into the bathroom while Severus was showering, Lord Voldemort came across Nott prancing joyfully across the Entrance Hall, a large 'Happy Birthday!' balloon tied around his waist. In true Mission-Impossible-esque style, Lord Voldemort and Lord Oinkmort threw themselves behind a large suit of armour before Nott could see them. After listening to him sing 'For He's a Jolly-Good Death Eater' to himself, Lord Voldemort and Lord Oinkmort raced back upstairs and burst into Severus's bedroom - conveniently without knocking to check if he was decent first - demanding loudly,

'Is it Nott's birthday today?'

Severus, who was unfortunately in the process of buttoning up his so lavishly-buttoned robes, sighed heavily and said, 'How many times do I have to remind you to knock, My Lord? Can't a man have any privacy around here?'

'Not when they are as devilishly good looking as you, Sev.'

Severus sighed again, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger (Voldemort felt a stab of jealously somewhere in his gut) and said, 'Yes, it is Nott's birthday today.'

'Why did no one tell me?' Voldemort demanded.

'I believe Nott sent everybody a Facebook message about it yesterday,' Severus said reasonably, neatening the sleeves of his robes and throwing himself one last sneer in the mirror before leading an affronted Voldemort from the room.

'What?' He whipped his phone out of his pocket. 'I didn't get a notification! All I got was a text from Umbridge asking me what star sign Dumbledore was.'

'Is it possible that you deleted Nott from your friends list?' Severus asked with a small smirk as he and Voldemort descended the stairs to the dining room.

'I don't - oh, wait.' Voldemort paused, nodding. 'Yes, I remember deleting him a few months ago. He kept sending me Farmville requests, you see.'

'That will be why you didn't receive the message, then.'

'Anyway, I was thinking, since it's his birthday' - Voldemort paused, splaying his palms in front of him and grinning in anticipation '- we should throw him a surprise party.'

Voldemort accompanied this exclamation with an excited flourish of his arms.

Severus, however, groaned. 'Another surprise party, my Lord? You do remember what happened when you tried to throw Bellatrix a surprise birthday party, don't you? She killed three of the guests before we could even yell 'surprise'.'

'That's because Bellatrix is a crazy bitch who doesn't take surprises well,' Voldemort said reasonably, shrugging off Severus's worries with an airy wave of his long-fingered hand. 'Nott, on the other hand, will _love_ it. I was thinking we should make a day of it and organise another foam volley-ball game like we did last Easter.'

While Voldemort hopped excitedly from one foot to another, Severus looked undecided. 'I don't know, my Lord, it would take a lot of planning and you know the Death Eaters are no good at keeping secrets -'

'_Come on_, Sev,' Voldemort whined, clasping his hands underneath his chin and pouting. 'It'll be fun!'

'I don't think so,' Severus said, shaking his head.

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest, pulled a disgruntled face and stamped his foot on the floor for good measure. 'Party-pooper.'

'I'm sorry, My Lord.'

'I miss Quirrell,' Voldemort sighed piteously. When Severus scowled, Voldemort, who knew how envious Severus had been of Voldemort and Quirrell's bromance, added on in a louder voice, '_Quirrell _would have helped me organise a surprise party for Nott. _Quirrell_ was fun - _he_ and I used to go _rollerblading_.'

Severus sneered at Voldemort. 'Fine,' he spat eventually, a mutinous look flitting over his face. 'We'll throw Nott a sodding party.'

'Yay!' Voldemort squealed, jumping up and down and clapping his hands together like a fat kid in Honeydukes or a Dark Lord in a wig-factory. 'This is going to be so much fun! We need party hats and jelly and pin the tail on the Hippogriff and - ooh - you and I can sing I'm Sticking With You by The Velvet Underground like we did at the Christmas party! And Lucius and Yaxley can do their Dirty Dancing routine again.'

'I'll have a guest list written up,' Severus said, still not sounding completely happy with the prospect of a party, but sounding slightly more accepting than he had been originally. Voldemort knew how much Severus liked a good karaoke.

'Do you want me to invite Dumbledore?'

Voldemort pulled face. 'No, we best not. You know he likes to over-indulge in Firewhiskey and then take his clothes off, which always gets a little awkward.'

Voldemort and Severus shared grim looks of agreement.

'Invite the Bloody Baron, though,' Voldemort decided. 'He's always a good laugh.'

'We're going to have to make sure to keep Bellatrix and Rodolphus in separate rooms, apparently they're fighting again.'

'Really? I thought they were seeing a marriage counsellor?'

'They were, but the counsellor suggested that Bellatrix's feelings towards you were sick and twisted so she killed him.'

Voldemort sighed heavily. It was _so_ hard being such a sex magnet.

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><p><strong>22nd February, 12:08 - <em>Badass HQ<em>**

And so, that very afternoon, Nott hurried to Malfoy Manor after receiving an urgent owl from Voldemort himself to find the Death Eaters and Co. crowded in the drawing room, yelling surprise and spraying silly string in his face (Lucius, who had promptly had a nervous breakdown, had had to be led away to spend a few hours in the quiet room, and had only been allowed back to the party when he had promised not to start scrubbing the bottoms of people's shoes with his toothbrush).

The party itself went fantastically: Severus and Lord Voldemort wowed audiences with their tearful rendition of 'As Long As You Love Me' by the Backstreet Boys; Lord Oinkmort killed Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back'; Wormtail over-indulged on too much Vokda-jelly and ended up playing 'Seven Minutes in Heaven' in a broom cupboard with Kreacher; Bellatrix and Rodolphus bonded over Tequila body-shots; and, at the end of the night, all heavily drunk, the last remaining guests who hadn't yet passed out crept over to Hogwarts, egged the castle and tepeed Hagrid's hut.

Lord Voldemort awoke the next morning folded in a bathtub with a still snoring Severus. While he looked blearily around the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror and chuckled. Someone had written 'HARRY POTTER'S BITCH' over his forehead in, what Voldemort discovered when he raised a hand to his head to try and rub it off, permanent ink. He glanced over at Lord Oinkmort, snoozing on the toilet with the Sorting Hat (a late addition to the guest list, but a jewel all the same - his anecdotes of what went on in the Headmaster's office had been priceless) perched lopsidedly on his head.

'Boy, do we Death Eaters know how to party,' Voldemort said to Lord Oinkmort.

'Oink,' Lord Oinkmort slurred in agreement.

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><p><strong>I don't even know what this is, but I really want to be a Death Eater now. Their foam parties sound fun. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I haven't touched this account in a ridiculous amount of years, but this chapter kind of just happened. Monopoly is played, Voldie and Sev spoon and Igor Karkaroff baywatches into the sea to save Yaxley. Enjoy!**

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><p>'One, two, three, four, five, six. Ooh, free parking.'<p>

'No, you counted that wrong. You should be on Vine Street.'

'I did not count wrong.'

'Yes, you did.'

'_No_, I didn't. I rolled a six, and now I'm on free parking.'

'_No_, you rolled a six and now you're on Vine Street.'

'How dare you challenge me, you worthless muttonhead! The Dark Lord never miscounts!'

'_Sit_ _down_, my Lord.'

Severus's cool voice belied only a little exasperation as, for the fourth time since Nott had suggested the three of them play Monopoly, he wrenched the wand out of Voldemort's outthrust hand and pulled him back into his chair. 'And, dear Merlin, leave your wand alone. Do you remember what I said before we started playing?'

Several indistinguishable words drooped pathetically from Voldemort's pale, almost invisible, lips.

'A little louder, if you would, my Lord.'

Voldemort then expelled a sigh of such teenage angst and woe, a sigh that practically screamed of disturbed childhood repression and a bubbling furnace of inner anger, that Severus briefly suspected that Voldemort had starting taking more than just family members from Potter; apparently he rather fancied the boy's flair for sullen silences and melodramatic moans too.

'You said we could only play if I promised not to kill anyone,' the Dark Lord muttered.

'Or?' Severus pressed.

Another sigh. 'Or cheat.'

'Including?'

'Shoving the dice up my opponents' noses, stealing from the bank, imposing a Death Eater tax of five-hundred pounds per property, shoving the houses up my opponents' noses, insisting I receive bald man benefits, kidnapping the banker and holding him ransom, shoving chance cards up my opponents' noses, prostituting opponents off for extra community chest cards and blackmailing them with pictures when they refuse to render their properties to me, shoving the playing board up my opponents' noses...'

'And?'

This sigh was the biggest of all and went on for several seconds. Severus tapped an impatient finger against the coffee table the three of them were sat, cross-legged, around. 'Moving my counter more spaces than the dice say to,' Voldemort finally grumbled, glaring at Severus.

'Which means,' Severus said in a slow voice that trembled a little with the suppressed anger, disbelief and desperation that only an intelligent individual surrounded by complete imbeciles can fully understand, 'that you are on Vine Street, not free parking. _And_, since Nott owns Vine Street and those pictures you are attempting to blackmail him with have been banned from the game, you owe him six hundred pounds.'

'How about,' Voldemort started slowly, his skeletal like fingers hovering over the paper notes he had arranged into neat lines on his side of the Monopoly board, 'I give him _one_ of these yellow notes instead?'

'That is only a pound, my Lord.'

'Nott knows that, Severus.'

'Do not take the note, Nott.'

'Do not listen to Severus, Nott.'

'My Lord, you owe Nott six hundred pounds. You may, in fact, return the six hundred pounds you demanded off him earlier for the photographs of him and Yaxley at the Christmas party.'

'How about,' Voldemort repeated in a louder, rather more tantalising voice than before, ignoring the downright suicidal look on Severus's beautiful face, 'I throw in this chocolate galleon too? How is that for a deal, eh?'

Nott, who, like a magpie, had a rather strange liking for shiny things, was leaning over the table to make a grab for the foil-wrapped chocolate galleon when Severus threw out a hand to stop him.

'My Lord, if you are not willing to play the game correctly, I am afraid we cannot play at all.'

Voldemort glared at Severus through red, snake like eyes for several tense moments before, in one sudden and fluid motion, he upturned the board with the strangled cry he usually reserved for the traumatic incidences when Wormtail got his pizza order wrong - an understandably easy thing for Wormtail to do, as Dominoes generally did not offer 'The Violent End to the Muggle Race' or 'The Mournful Cries of Harry Potter's Loved Ones' as pizza toppings.

'I guess we're not playing then,' he spat, and, before Severus could stop him, he folded up the monopoly board and threw it at Nott's head.

Afterwards, when Nott's wails and sobs had abated, the cut on his forehead had been bandaged up, Yaxley - who had scurried into the room at the sound of Nott's cries and subsequently fainted at the sight of the blood - had been roused with Lucius's bath salts, Lucius had stopped complaining at the loss of his bath salts, and Voldemort had stopped huffing around the room making lavish proclamations about the changes to their battle plan - 'In fact, I am not going to kill Potter at all, I shall instead bring him here and train him to pass wind whenever you speak, Severus' - and upturning more furniture in order to draw the attention back to himself, Severus paused in the act of viciously envisioning the brutal deaths of each inhabitant of Badass HQ to vow to never, _ever_ play Monopoly again.

* * *

><p>'Severus. <em>Severus<em>. Psst, Sev. Sev, wake up. _Severus_.'

'Go 'way.'

'Severus, I need you.'

''M sleeping.'

'_Severus_.'

'_Go away_.'

'You cannot tell me to go away, Sev, I am your Dark Lord.'

'When it is three o'clock in the morning, my Lord, I believe I can tell you to do whatever I want you to.'

'Kinky.'

'_Go away, my Lord._'

'I had a nightmare, Severus. Can I sleep with you?'

'No.'

'But I had a nightmare.'

'_No._'

'But it was _scary_.'

'_No_. Go back to bed.'

'Nagini kicked me out of bed and Wormtail said the cupboard I force him to sleep him isn't big enough for two.'

'Stop making Wormtail sleep in a cupboard, my Lord. I do not much care for the rodent but the mould is making him even more wheezy.'

'He keeps getting my pizza order wrong. I need to punish him _somehow_.'

'Go and sleep with Nott.'

'Nott is still bitter that I hit him in the head with the Monopoly board.'

'Sleep with Yaxley.'

'I _told _you, Nott is already angry at me. I don't want to add fuel to the fire by _sleeping_ with _Yaxley_.'

'Lucius, then.'

'Narcissa doesn't like it when I get into bed with them. She calls it pathetic and unhealthy and her glares make me feel uncomfortable.'

'Bellatrix?'

'_Who do you think my nightmare was about_?'

'My Lord, I need sleep. I was up all night organising the muggle baiting session you are forcing us all to attend next week, and I am exhausted.'

'You offered to organise it, I do believe.'

'I said I would rather stick pins in my eyes, my Lord.'

'It's meant to be _team building_.'

'Please go back to bed, my Lord.'

'I can't. I'm scared.'

'That is not my concern.'

'_Quirrell_ used to hold me when I had nightmares.'

'My Lord -'

'He used to rock me in his arms and we'd make up rumours about Dumbledore and McGonagall -'

'My Lord -'

'And then we'd stay up talking _all night_ about our hopes and dreams and plots and schemes and sometimes we wouldn't go to sleep until the morning -'

'My Lord -'

'And then we'd wake up late and make pancakes and he always gave me the biggest ones and then we'd feed each other strawberries -'

'_Fine_. Get in.'

'Oh, Severus, you darling. Move over there, Sevvie, you're taking up half of the bed -'

'I am taking up my own bed? Whatever was I thinking -'

'If I can just shimmy in here - my, that's a rather revealing nightdress -'

'It's a night_shirt_.'

'Ooh, cold toes.'

'Stop putting them on my feet -'

'Where else am I meant to put them?'

'On your side.'

'I am on my side -'

'No, you are on my side -'

'Stop taking all of the blanket.'

'I am not, I barely have any -'

'I don't have any either -'

'My Lord, you have a _ridiculous_ amount of space on your side. Move over -'

'No, I'll fall out.'

'You will _not _fall out.'

'Quirrell never took up all the blanket -'

'_You were attached to the back of his head_ -'

'Our relationship knew no boundaries. Much like your ability to look devilishly seductive even whilst wearing that nightdress.'

'Night_shirt_. It is a night_shirt_.'

* * *

><p>In the end, the hours Severus had spent planning the Death Eaters' bi-annual muggle baiting trip were a total waste, as the whole day turned out to be a complete disaster. After piling onto the minibus they had acquired (courtesy of Goyle, who maintained that he had borrowed it "from a friend" despite the words emblazoned on the side reading 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry') and setting off from Badass HQ (returning only minutes later because Voldemort had forgotten to let Wormtail out of his cupboard), they had arrived at their chosen muggle baiting location only for all Hell to promptly break lose.<p>

Firstly, the beach that Voldemort had insisted on devastating with 'the terror and fury of a thousand Yaxley's on discovering Nott in a broom cupboard with Igor Karkaroff at the annual Anti-Dumbledore Society Benefit' (unfortunately, Severus had not needed to ask Voldemort to elaborate on this description as the scandal of the Nott-Karkaroff-Yaxley love triangle had swept Badass HQ in mere minutes and spawned some truly awful fanfiction) had been completely deserted, as Severus had _told_ Voldemort it would be at ten o'clock on a cold and rainy February morning.

On seeing this, Bellatrix, only recently released from Azkaban and rather psychotically hungry for some muggle-baiting, had dissolved into a fit of fury and thrown her husband into the sea. Yaxley, in an attempt to make a completely oblivious Nott jealous, had made a gallant effort to save Rodolphus from the calm and completely non-threatening waters by throwing himself into the sea after him, only to promptly remember that he had no idea how to swim. In the end, Igor - who had rather randomly and bizarrely arrived from Bulgaria despite receiving no invitation - had been forced to make a show of ripping off his shirt and slow-motion running to the water (a feat that took the best part of ten minutes, as the tide was a fair way out) to save the both of them.

While Rodolphus avoided Bellatrix, Yaxley wailed into the sand and made loud and dramatic announcements that he would be drowning himself in the sea shortly, Wormtail attempted to stop Yaxley from drowning himself by performing (Severus was sickened to admit it to himself) a rather touching rendition of Don't Stop Believing by Journey, Igor insisted on giving Nott a thorough demonstration on the practicalities of mouth to mouth resuscitation, Narcissa attempted to remove the travel Monopoly board that had become lodged up Lucius's nose after a game that had started on the minibus without Severus's knowledge, the several Order of the Phoenix members that had turned up with the intention of stopping the muggle baiting session they had been tipped off about, were sat a little way away, passing around popcorn and laughing raucously at Severus's complete lack of control over the situation.


End file.
